


Upon My Skin

by Whedonista93



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, BAMF Bilbo Baggins, F/M, Fix-It, Rule 63, Tattooed Bilbo, Tattoos, Temporary Amnesia, fem!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 18:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93
Summary: She remembers in vague dreams that she has inked into her skin every time she comes across an artist with the skill and tools.





	Upon My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Twisting the timeline a bit so that Gandalf issues his warning about magic rings before the Battle of the Five Armies

She knows her name is Belladonna, like her mother before her.

She knows she is of the Shire; just as surely, she knows she no longer belongs there. She made the journey back, once, shortly after she came to, and found they presumed her dead. She stole into Bag End in the dark, spirited away a few small keepsakes--and her handkerchief, she’s not certain why, but she found it awfully funny at the time--and let them keep their assumptions. 

She knows she is no master, but she is serviceable with the sword she carries. 

Some other instinct prompts her to continue wearing the strange braids and beads in her hair. 

She woke on a hillside a year ago with a gash down her temple, well scarred over now, and blood caking her unfamiliar braids. 

She has very little in the way of money, with the nomadic lifestyle she’s taken up, but trade works well enough. She can cook and garden and mend, she’s discovered.

* * *

 

This is all she knows:

 

She carries a ring in her pocket that some instinct makes her terrified to wear.

“ _ There is something about you. Something you carry. Something made of gold, but far more precious.” _

_ “Magic rings should not be used lightly, Bella. Don’t take me for a fool! I know you found one in the Goblin Tunnels and I’ve kept my eye on you ever since.” _

* * *

She remembers in vague dreams that she has inked into her skin every time she comes across an artist with the skill and tools. 

* * *

A spider wraps around her right ankle.

_ "Somehow the killing of a giant spider, all alone by herself in the dark without the help of a wizard or the dwarves or anyone else, made a great difference to Miss Baggins. She felt a different person, and much fiercer and bolder in spite of an empty stomach as she wiped her sword on the grass and put it back into its sheath." _

*

The round green door of a hobbit hole, a strange mark carved into the bottom, sits just above her left ankle.

_ “Mark? There’s no mark on that door. It was painted a week ago!” _

*

A massive black bear walks up her right forearm.

_ “ _ That _ is our host.” _

*

A strange key adorns the bottom half of her left forearm, a series of dwarvish runes she does not understand are stacked above it.

_ “The last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole.” _

 

_ ‘The last light! The keyhole! Come back! Come back! It’s the light of the moon!”  _

*

A small acorn rests on her right hip.

_ “I picked it up in Beorn’s garden.” _

_ “You’ve carried it all this way.” _

_ “I’m going to plant it in my garden… in Bag End.” _

_ “A poor prize, to take back to the Shire.” _

_ “One day it’ll grow, and every time I look at it, I’ll remember… remember everything that happened; the good, the bad, and how lucky I am that I made it home.” _

*

Her right bicep is wrapped in the notes of a song she does not know all the lyrics to.

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold,_ _  
__To dungeons deep and caverns old,_ _  
__We must away, ere break of day,_ _  
___To seek our pale enchanted gold.  
*

An eagle, wings spread wide, flies on her left bicep.

_ Trees burn - wargs howl - wings flap above. _

*

A red dragon wraps her left thigh.

_ “Thief! I smell you. I hear your breath. I feel your air. Where are you? Where are you?” _

*

A stone giant stands outside the mouth of a cave on the back of her right arm.

_ “This is no thunderstorm! It’s a thunder battle!” _

_ “Well bless me, the legends are true! Stone giants!” _

_ “I thought we lost our burglar.” _

_ “She’s been lost ever since she left home. She should never have come. She has no place amongst us.” _

*

A single dwarven rune, inside of stands out starkly against the pale skin just under her collar bone, right over her heart.

_ “The halfing?” _

_ “It’s alright, Bella is here. She’s quite safe.” _

_ “You! What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed! Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild! That you had no place amongst us. I have never been so wrong in all my life.” Strong arms around her shoulders. “I am sorry I doubted you.” _

 

_ “I don’t understand.” _

_ “It is no secret, halfling, that dwarves are a secretive lot. This mark… it is the mark of the house of Durin. Accepting it, wearing it, shows that you are kin. Lets all who see it know that you dwarf in all but blood.” _

_ “No, no, I understand  _ that _ , but I mean… why this one? Don’t you all have marks? It seems a bit silly to permanently ink the royal line into my skin.” _

_ “The lad’s tryin’ ta ask ye ta marry ‘im, lass! I was gonna keep my mouth shut, but he’s makin’ such a blunder of it, I couldn’a take it anymore!” _

*

A glittering white stone - specially done with elvish ink shines on her right palm.

_ “Herein lies the Seventh Kingdom of Durin’s folk. May the heart of the mountain unite all dwarves in defense of this home.” _

_ “The throne of the king.” _

_ “And what’s that above it?” _

_ “The Arkenstone. That’s why you’re here.” _

 

_ “One of them has taken it.” _

 

_ “If I am not mistaken,  _ this _ is the halfling that stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards.” _

_ “Eesh… sorry about that… I came to give you this.” _

_ “The heart of the mountain. The king’s jewel.” _

_ “And worth a king’s ransom… why would you do this? You owe us no loyalty.” _

_ “I’m not doing it for you.” _

 

_ “You have no claim over me, you miserable rat!” _

_ “I was going to give it to you. Many times I wanted to, but…” _

_ “But what, thief?” _

_ “You are changed! The dwarf I met in Bag End would never have gone back on his word! Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin!” _

_ “Do not speak to me of loyalty! Throw her from the rampart! Did you not hear me?! I will do it myself! Curse you! Cursed be the wizard that forced you on this company!” _

_ “If you don’t like my burglar, then please, don’t damage her. Return her to me! You’re not making a very splendid figure as king under the mountain, are you?” _

_ “Never again will I have dealings with wizards or Shire rats!” _

*  
  


A mural covers her back - a massive oak tree, a raven perched on one of the branches, stands at the base of a single mountain peak. 

_ “We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us. That is when I saw him. A young dwarf prince facing down the pale orc. He stood alone against this terrible foe, his armor rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield… our forces rallied… our enemy had been defeated, but there was no feast, no song, that night for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived. And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow. There is one I could call king.” _

 

_ “A raven! The birds are returning to the mountain!” _

_ “That is a thrush.” _

_ “But we’ll take it as a sign. A good omen.” _

 

_ “Is that what I think it is?” _

_ “Erebor. The Lonely Mountain. The last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle Earth.” _

_ “Our home.”   _

 

* * *

 

A line of figures - fifteen in total - march in a line across the lower part of her back.

_ “Can I help you?” _

_ “That remains to be seen. I’m looking for someone to share in an adventure.’ _

_ “An adventure? No. I don’t imagine anyone west of Bree would have much interest in adventures. Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things. Make you late for dinner… good morning.” _

_ “To think that I should have lived to be “good morning’d” by Belladonna Took’s namesake as if I was selling buttons at the door!” _

_ “I beg your pardon?” _

_ “You’ve changed. And not entirely for the better, Bella Baggins.” _

_ “I’m sorry, do I know you?” _

_ “Well, you know my name, even though you don’t remember I belong to it. I’m Gandalf! And Gandalf means… me.” _

 

_ “Dwalin, at your service.” _

_ “Bella Baggins, at yours. Do we know each other?” _

_ “No.” _

 

_ “Balin, at your service.” _

 

_ “Fili...” _

_ “...and Kili...” _

_ “... at your service.” _

_ “You must be Miss Boggins!” _

 

_ “Uh, Fili, Kili… Oin, Gloin… Dwalin, Balin… Bifur, Bofur, Bombur… Dori, Nori, Ori! Yes, you’re quite right, Bifur… we appear to be one dwarf short.” _

_ “He is late, is all. He traveled north to a meeting of our kin. He will come.” _

 

_ Blunt the knives _

_ Bend the forks _

_ Smash the bottles and burn the corks _

_ Chip the glasses and crack the plates _

_ That’s what Bella Baggins hates _

_ Cut the cloth _

_ Tread on the fat _

_ Leave the bones on the bedroom mat _

_ Pour the milk on the pantry floor _

_ Splash the wine on every door _

_ Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl _

_ Pound them up with a thumping pole _

_ When you’re finished uif any are whole, _

_ Send them down the, hall to roll _

_ That’s what Bella Baggins hates _

 

Bella wakes laughing, but ceases with an abrupt gasp, “Thorin!”

That very day, she finds a company of Big Folk striking out for Dale. They agree to take her on readily enough, so long as she can pull her own weight. She straps an empty chest to her pony and then sneaks off in the dead of night when they rest near the troll cave - a bit of extra gold can’t hurt along the road, after all. The journey is longer than her first journey to Erebor - this party skirts the forest her Company had braved. She does not wish the try the paths of Mirkwood again, the darkness on the wood is receding, but still present. She is anxious to reach the mountain and already antsy by the time it is in sight, though. The leader of her current traveling party eyes her shrewdly, but does not comment, when she steers them away from what she knows to be orc territory. By the time they reach Dale, completely rebuilt and thriving after all this time - near two years, by Bella’s reckoning - she is near vibrating out of her very skin in anticipation.

It is nearing sunset already, but Bella spares only enough time and coin to pick up a change of clothes - a sturdy, tawny colored skirt, a white linen shirt with a square neckline that leaves the rune on her chest and the marks on her arms bared for the world to see, and a lovely brown leather vest, embroidered in yellows and blues - and have a quick bath at the nearest inn. She slides her mithril on under her shirt, eternally grateful she had not given into the urge to sell it during the hard times in the absence of her memory. She rebraids her hair with shaking hands and sets on the final stretch to Erebor with Sting belted to her waist, her pack slung over her shoulder and her chest tucked under her other arm.

She will admit she is frightened. When she woke on the hillside with no memory and a blood soaked battlefield before her, she fled as far as she could as quickly as she could. She regrets it now, for she has no idea what lies before her. She does not even know if her Company still lives. She has resolutely turned a deaf ear to any rumors of the Lonely Mountain she heard on the road to avoid heartbreak and hope in equal measure. The road to Erebor is well lit and the gates stand open wide. It takes all her self control not to burst into a run at the sight. The guards are eying her approach warily enough as is.

“Who goes there?” The nearest dwarf sneers distrustfully at the braids in her hair and mark on her chest.

Bella opens her mouth, still unsure how to answer, when she sees a blessedly familiar face passing not far beyond the guards. “Dwalin!”

The grizzled old warrior freezes and turns toward her slowly, naked disbelief on his face. At the sight of her, he smiles more broadly than she has ever seen. Between one moment and the next, she has dropped her pack and chest and is scooped up in the dwarves arms. She blatantly ignores the way his voice cracks when he speaks. “We thought ye were done for, lass.”

Bella laughs wetly as he sets her back on her feet. Her hand brushes over her scar. “I nearly was.”

Dwalin stoops and picks up her chest and pack and ushers her past the guards, silencing them with a glare when they protest. 

Bella quickly realizes she’s being led to the throne room and she freezes. “Dwalin… is everyone… what I mean is did anyone… are they all…”

Dwalin’s gaze softens. “Everyone lived, little one. We thought we’d lost Thorin. Fili and Kili too, but everyone pulled through.”  
Bella sags against the nearest wall in relief. “Thorin… has he,” she can’t help but blush, “er, is he…”

Dwaling takes pity on her stammering. “Lass, dwarves love but once in a lifetime. Even if ye never returned, ye would always be his One. Never will he take another bride.”

“Oh.”

“Aye.” 

“Can I see everyone?”

Dwalin laughs. “Where did ye think I was taking ye?”

Bella takes the hand he offers and lets him drag her into the throne room. The entire Company is clustered around a table, bickering loudly and good naturedly, throwing food at one another as if they were not the most honored among their people. Bella’s heart swells at the sight.

“Oi,” Dwalin’s voice cuts over the din as they draw near, “look what I found at the gates!”

Utter silence follows for a full minute as the whole lot stares at her.

Finally, she huffs and puts her hands on her hips. “Goblin got your tongues?”

Fili and Kili lead the charge, and Bella suddenly finds herself at the bottom of a pile dwarves, all loudly exclaiming something or another. Bella laughs until she is breathless before Dwalin rescues her from the pile, pulling her up by her belt. She pats his arm and leans against him gratefully, just long enough to catch her breath before turning her eyes to the head of the table. Sure enough, Thorin is still standing there, still as stone. She approaches slowly and stops right in front of him, well within the personal space no one outside the Company dares to breech. One calloused hand reaches toward her shakily. She leans into it as he reverently cups her cheek.

Thorin lowers his forehead to hers. “I thought I had lost you.”

Bella takes a shaky breath. “A near thing.” She reaches up for the hand on her cheek and guides it to the scar at her temple. She can hear the silence behind her, the rest of the Company as anxious for the explanation of her absence as Thorin. “I woke after the battle with blood in braids I did not know the meaning of and no knowledge beyond my name and birthplace. I saw the aftermath of the battle on the field below me and it terrified me so I ran as far away as I could as fast I could. I went back to the Shire, first. But… well, I didn’t belong there anymore, so I left again. I wandered. I dreamed. Bits and pieces of memories,” she gestures vaguely to the ink on her arms, “but I could never connect them all.”

“What brought it back?” Thorin asks quietly, gently stroking the scar.

Bella laughs and glances over her shoulder. “That unexpected party, so long ago… they were singing about breaking my dishes,” she turns back to Thorin, “and then you were there.”

“And now you’re here,” Thorin brushes a hand gently over her braids.

Bella wraps her arms around his waist and smiles up at him. “Now I’m home.”

He drops a kiss to her hair. “Now you’re home.”


End file.
